


Romancing the Hair

by xdarlingnickyx (Sonny)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Non A/U
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/xdarlingnickyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from the <b>spinkink_meme - REQUEST: hair kink</b> - Jensen has a thing for Jared's hair. He loves seeing Jared run his hands through it, the way it flops into his eyes, but most of all, he loves coming all over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romancing the Hair

**Author's Note:**

> In a video clip at a recent convention, I swear I heard Jensen answer a question from a fan when asked what would he take from the Supernatural set once the show had run its course – his immediate response was [pointing to Jared]...Jared's hair. And then my mind went straight into the gutter.

 

 _“_   
_His hair is full of secrets.”_

 **by anonymous**

It all starts so innocently. Over the years it's spiraled into the very issue that could end up destroying the intricate fabric of Jensen's life.

He's a fairly vanilla guy when it comes to sex. It's not about what you do, it's how you do it: technique and substance. There's a little spark of connection with a lover—undeniable—that holds no candle to the others who have weaved in and out of his life. He considers himself a genial, satisfactory companion in bed who won't boast outright, but lets his performance speak for itself.

It's not that Jensen isn't a sexual being; in fact, he's quite intense but only when it's one-on-one. Everyone thinks he's a cool dude because they take his chilled reserve as some form of frigidity or a conservativeness in the bedroom where's he's never open to new and wondrous things. They would be stunned to know he has allowed the women—and a few men—in his bed to spank him, maybe roughhouse about and play around the stretchiness of his hole. Jensen is hardcore about not only his orgasms but giving his bed partner moments to remember. He's never had a serious kink before, never been into any type of fetish fantasy. He's never role-played or taken a situation in bed and made it freakishly raunchy.

 _Jared. Jared Padalecki._ A total stranger to Jensen barely short of three years ago, who has become a cornerstone to his world he can't ever imagine having lived without. He so satisfied in his relationship with Jared he doesn't even pine for those wasted years. Lately, though, Jensen hasn't been picturing Jared in much of a familial way.

Jared and he often talk intimately, and sometimes publicly when curious minds inquire, about those ripe young years of shifting from acting job to acting job and always hearing about each other in their broad circle of celebrity friends— _oh, I know so-and-so who's friends with so-and-so and they know his friends_.

Jared's heard Jensen's story about actually Googling him one random day when he learned from his agent that they were looking at another young actor to play the role of “Sam”, the baby of the Winchester family. Had he not been asked back to read for the role of Dean Winchester, the older brother, Jensen hadn't been certain he ever would've bothered to web-search Jared at all. Jensen was a bit more secretive about his real reaction to seeing Internet pictures of Jared when they converse in private; in interviews and when asked by fans, Jensen feels more comfortable speaking a little truth, simply because Jared can take it as a joke or a tease. That's just the kind of relationship they've grown to cultivate, always jabbing and poking fun, taunting one another with their talked-about good looks and soft, southern charms. Neither man feels overzealous about claiming themselves attractive, but it takes no prodding for them to talk about the other in that same light.

Jensen always sees the first photograph he had seen of Jared in his mind, not prepared to be bowled over by such a handsome—and dare he say it, _sexy_ —young man just out of the starting gate to a burgeoning acting career. He made Jensen feel like the war-torn Vet to Jared's newbie Private simply by looking at him in celluloid form. And it hadn't been that Jensen thought his own looks had soured or had somehow gone away, it was only that he never saw himself as _that_ good-looking to be singled out of a roomful of men. Jensen wasn't vain, but neither was Jared, which made it easier to be in each other's presence because they often wouldn't take too many things seriously. Both more willing to crack a joke or tease lightly, but relentlessly, and not “diva-out” like most stars of TV shows did.

Thinking back, about how much Jared had changed even in the little time they've been in one another's life, Jared has grown-up—matured—rather suddenly, almost overnight. Once all gangly legs and bendy arms to one day fill out in a peculiar way that had given Jensen a chilled shiver down his spine.

The images don't lie: cute kid, then an adorkable teen with wispy hair and rather large, dopey ears with these incredibly friendly eyes, but the man transformed created an excitement in his gut, making Jensen actually rethink a spark of grief over losing the role of Sam Winchester to Jared. After three years, Jensen covets “Dean” and almost doesn't fathom ever thinking he would've been better at the younger brother—not after seeing Jared continue to knock it out of the park on screen, and off screen during rehearsals.

He had gotten the eventual call from his agent, making it official that Eric Kripke and his crew want a “cold table read” with a collection of actors for the first couple of episodes beyond the Pilot. It hadn't been the entirety of the scripts just a few scattered scenes to showcase each actor and actress' talents, to finally see how well everyone in the cast would mesh together. Six or seven episodes in four hours, the task seemed brutal without knowing many of the names and very little of their past work. It had been in the Warner Brothers network offices in Los Angeles.

In private, Eric had told Jared and Jensen that this would also be a great opportunity for them to meet one another again without the added pressure of seeing each other in Vancouver when they begin filming soon. Almost immediately, without any provocation from Kripke or people from the network, there's a weird connection—an awesome thrumming vibe—between the two Texans. Their ease and comfort around one another had breathed a collective sign of relief to the latent fears and tension for Kripke and the other crew members they'll be working with shortly.

Jensen remembers he had asked his agent and manager to make him a small “reel” of Jared's work, because having met Jared face-to-face was like night and day. It was difficult to gauge a person's character by word of mouth and/or making an opinion from such little time given to meet before being hired for the show. He hadn't wanted to walk into anything without having a background idea of who the fuck Jared was, on and off screen. The complicated and busy schedule of his employees didn't afford that DVD reel of Jared's work, so Jensen had gone with simply trusting his own instincts from hitting it off rather ideally during the audition process.

When Jensen had picked up the scripts of the scenes he would be reading with his new co-star and random castmates, he was a bit taken aback that so much of the Winchester brothers' dynamics, and the family's mythology, had been sandwiched in only six episodes. It had looked intense on just a read-through on his own, so he could only imagine how interesting it would be during a cold read around a table. There would probably be no plan to inflect emotions in voices or “act out” any kind of preliminary blocking. The whole table of actors, writers and producers would most likely be in agreement, which Jensen will follow behind as he's not too keen on rocking the boat right at the start.

At the day of the table read, there's one person who was either inexperienced in this form of script-reading or he actually felt like it was better to never squelch on showing your cards early so someone can come in and praise you or make better suggestions on your choice of how they wanted the dialog said. Jared had seemed like he had been concentrating too much on the typed words on the stark white paper. He had worn a John Deere trucker cap that hid his hair, the wide brim obstructing his upper brow and the top lids of his slightly slanted eyes. He had cleared his throat and nodded his head as he undid his plaid shirt's cuffs to roll them up to his elbows. It was like he had shown up that day to walk into the room fully loaded and was ready for some serious business. Or it could be nerves; Jensen would've understood _that_ reaction.

Jensen hadn't been able to look away—seated on the other side of the long rectangular table, stuck between Jim Beaver and Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Jared had been placed between two writers, Sera Gamble and Ben Edlund. Jensen had become mesmerized by Jared's mannerisms because on him everything was always bigger, and broader, than perceived, and he's more real than he's ever been to Jensen.

If it's possible, Jared had even gotten better looking in person once Jensen saw beyond the dimples and the gleaming, easy-going smile. He wasn't sure if it was all an act or did the guy really have the charm of a good ole southern gentleman. It had been a killer charm that instantly stirred some things inside Jensen—a crazed need to protect, a mysterious want to be around, and a willingness to always take a second, third and even a final fourth glance at Jared to make certain such an authentic old soul resided inside the too-green young man.

Jensen had already learned, in his short and hurried talks with Jared, they are a lot alike, yet they also couldn't be more different. Their families were similar, as well as their childhoods and upbringings—both having been bitten by the “acting” bug quite early on and willing to pursue this unattainable, unquenchable dream to stardom. Even at their dual auditions, Jensen had been intrigued, wanting desperately to know more. He wasn't too sure he's ever going to be satisfied, because Jared seems way-too curious and inquisitive, like being around a little kid who always questions the world and his surroundings.

Jensen had watched as Jared removed the trucker cap and the way he slouched in the rolling office swivel chair with a different “air” about his body. It was as if he had donned a new, untapped skin and he was trying “Sam” on for size. One arm had lifted, fingers sifting through dark tri-colored brown locks to tuck behind an ear—the motion so quick the hair never stayed put. A patch of pale neck and strength of jaw was shown as Jared had peered across at Jensen under demure eyes, his voice hesitant and inquisitive as he had stated... _“Dean?”_

This had been the first line of the strung-together patchwork script and Jensen—the seasoned star—had already begun the blooper reel with a missed cue for the next line which is, sadly, only a soft, _“Sam.”_ with some kind of inflection only “Dean” gives his little brother.

“Oh, hey—sorry, man. Forgot tha's me.” Jensen had scrubbed his sweaty palms over his heavy jeans, squeezing his kneecaps on the downslope, then dangling one arm while placing the fist of the other on top of his upper thigh.

The table had erupted in laughter, but Jared—“Sam”—had merely sent out a shy grin.

Jensen had gotten in tune with Jared's method quite quickly—he hadn't wanted to do this “cold”. It had seemed as if Jared wanted to go balls out and prove to Eric, and company, that he was a sure-fire golden boy about to make this little TV show a hit. Jensen hadn't been willing to slack off and look like a fucking chump. He actually had loved this kind of stuff, for once, and was assured even more that Sam Winchester was in very capable hands.

 _…_   
_huge hands with long, tapered fingers that constantly brush back strands of brown. There's always a dangle of a low hairline across Jared's forehead that needs to be tamed, pushed back to see his features perfectly. The hair is always freshly washed and conditioned, shining with a healthy coat of vitamins and minerals..._

Jensen's not sure he has ever singled out one mannerism of someone he's known and been eerily attached to that one motion. He's unsure if it started out as a “Sam”-trait or if this was truly Jared. It will be awhile for Jensen to figure it was the latter.

After the table read, Eric, and a skeleton crew of people, had taken Jared and Jensen out to a late lunch. That time, Jared had plopped down directly beside Jensen's seat. It was a whole 'new ball-of-wax Jensen wouldn't be prepared for as “Sam” had been shelved and now he was being given the real Jared—PADA-LECK-I. Jensen had made a mantra out of that last name to repeat a thousand times in his head, because he knew he was in this boat with Jared as long as it would stay afloat. He doesn't know why, but he was very certain he will have Jared's back, and vice versa—the good ole Texas way. Sure they have family back home, maybe a girlfriend and close best friends, but when it comes to being on a television show there's a new “family” that generates. It had looked like Sam and Dean were fifty-fifty on screen, so Jared and Jensen had to get along or die trying.

It was funny how, up close, Jared was almost blindingly stunning. It was never _one_ thing that made him attractive, it was the _whole_ package. Despite the whisper of a southern drawl Jared had still carried, the oddball personal touches to Jensen's body and the quirky humor had Jensen unable to look away or scurry backward—which was something he did with everybody, and it was only because personal space was tantamount for him. It felt like a crime against humanity to deny Jared any right to caress or lightly place his hand against his body, wherever he wanted.

And Jensen can't look away from that— _hair_. It had dried by that time, some slight humidity had turned it to a tangled mess in the back, along the nape. But Jared had been running those nimble fingers through the locks, and now the strands lay closer to the scalp, going flat and looking greasy from the oils in his sweaty hands.

Jensen knew that wasn't the case; before their table read, Jared had probably just popped out of a quick shower and gone outdoors with a wet-head—hence the need for the John Deere cap that had gone non-existent for the last few hours. There had been an intriguing apple-cinnamon scent wafting over and had Jensen licking his lips as if he could actually taste the spicy odor. The scent was heady, coupled with the musk of Jared's cologne and his skin's natural odor, that the body's warmth had permeated off him every time Jared softly elbowed Jensen or clamped that big paw over a shoulder, letting his tapered fingers skim over Jensen's neck and nape. Jared's unafraid of invading personal space, which had forced Jensen to look like the weirdo who tensed and tightened up as if he was cold and uncomfortable.

Jensen was usually attracted to an easy-going familiarity, only because he doesn't like to be the one who stands out; he was typically better “wing man” material. Jensen didn't like to show too much in public and definitely not before he had gotten to know Jared better. He had wanted to. He had wished there hadn't been so many people there, looking and watching them under a microscope as if to wonder if this had been the right choice to make hiring them. It hadn't taken long before everyone was assured no other actors could have embodied the souls of the Winchester brothers.

The next time Jensen saw Jared was a promotional photo-shoot for the network. He had gone to bed on time, woken early and jogged on the treadmill for an hour. Made an egg white omelet with light toast with a butt-load of coffee shoved down his throat. He had dressed casual for the shoot, but hadn't done much to himself or his hair because the stylists there would reinforce how the network wanted “Dean” to look like. Jensen had known he needed a minor trim; his hair always tended to grow ridiculously fast, so he has to get a cut at least once a week. He had arrived at the studio, noticing that Jared had gotten there before him. Not too much of a shocker, but it had added another plus to Jensen's “reasons to like Jared” list.

He had taken a small gander at the stage set-up, pretty impressed they had actually found a '67 Chevy Impala to use in the various shots. He couldn't help but smile, feeling that tingle over his skin when a role he's taken on turns into being the best decision he's ever made. Out of all the roles he's had, he had only felt this way a handful of times.

He had noticed the racks of clothes—one labeled “Sam”, the other for “Dean”—and he touched the fabrics because he's kind of jealous. He had secretly coveted these outfits because they're the types of clothing he would wear relaxing back at home. Everything to do with the show had become more real and less fantasy as the days progressed, all of it falling into place quite easily, like it was meant-to-be.

As he had rounded the ends of the metal racks, he had cut a hard right to find his way beyond a fashioned plastic opening—a “doorway”, of sorts—that led to the hair and make-up area. No one had been seated in the salon chairs, but he had noticed one of the stylists had dunked Jared's head under the faucet of the stainless steel sink.

Jared had placed his elbows on the sink ledge, his 6'4'' frame bent over as a connected water spray washed away all the shampoo from his hair. There was a quick dousing of conditioner, with another round of soaking. A towel had been draped over Jared's broad shoulders and back. He had been in bare feet and loose jeans, a threadbare t-shirt covering his long torso so a patch of bare skin kept popping out as he lifted and shifted his arms; the denim somehow caught on his splay of hip bones, without a belt in the loops. Jensen had learned early on that Jared liked boxer briefs while wearing jeans, so right now he can read the name-brand label across the stretch of elastic.

It had felt like Jared had been there awhile. There was cut hair droppings surrounding the floor below one chair. Jensen was trapped between a feeling of both excitement and sadness; the network must have wanted “Sam” to look a little more tailored, less mountain man. Jensen knew he would miss those long dark locks. He had taken the chair next to where Jared had been sitting, watched as Jared and the stylist both held the towel over his head and hunched-walked him back to the seat.

Jared had flopped down, allowing the young woman to do her job with no complaints or qualms. It was very unusual for Jared to be silent, to never ask questions about what was being done or to inquire about the person he was with to kill the silence. He had kept his eyes closed, expecting the stylist to rub the material of the towel through his hair, but instead she had done these odd squishes and squeezes because she told him she didn't want to damage the hair ends by breaking them or ruin the follicles by pulling good hair out if she scrubbed his hair dry. He had deeply chuckled because for years he's been doing that very thing and always grumbling when his hair just falls out for no reason or breaks at the ends to leave him with an uneven cut.

Jensen had known Jared could care less, but he's snickering to himself as he witnessed Jared placate the young woman since she seemed to take haircare very seriously. A second stylist had wandered in, handing Jensen his requested 20ounce cup of morning coffee. He had sipped at the hot beverage, sitting back into the cushioned chair as he was spun to face the mirror. He had glanced at his reflection, but then widened his gaze once he recognized sketches of himself—of “Dean”—and how some kind of image for the role was trying to be addressed. This mold of Jensen Ackles had to look exactly how the network wanted Dean Winchester to appear; it would take a whole lot of magic in those professional hands.

Jared had opened his eyes by then, saw Jensen in the mirror and pushed a bare foot on the floor to spin to face his co-star. “—mornin', man.”

Jensen had tipped his coffee toward Jared, finally awake but not fully alert quite yet. “Hold up. I been 15minutes without caffeine. Gotta have my daily jolt to even function.”

Jared had smirked, going a bit flush as he liked knowing a few of the random flaws of the great Jensen Ackles. “Sweets.”

“huh?” Jensen had been unsure if Jared was calling him “sweet” or if he had been trying to say something pertaining to some kind of “sweetness”.

“Candy. Sugar rush—sugar high.” Jared was forced to crane his neck at an odd angle as the clippers were brought out to his nape to shave away unwanted hair and shape the strands.

Jensen had thought it was dumb because who the hell would see that on Jared in a damn picture taken from the front.

Jared had to stare at the floor; his toes curling and spreading out over the tiled flooring. “My Mom'll be pleased.”

Jensen had placed his cup between the bow of his legs, turning to glance at Jared. Already he could detect the visions intended for “Sam”— _Sammy_ —Winchester and he didn't feel as sad as he had before. Probably because they've trimmed Jared's hair so his face can be seen and, well...again, Jared's not a bad looking guy to look at. Jensen couldn't quite grasp the concept of the need for “Sam-hair”, but he had learned he did like the shorter hair-do. He couldn't wait for the finished product once the strands were dry and styled.

==&&==&&==

As the filming for the first season approached, Jensen had grown to appreciate the finer intricacies of Jared, not to mention the undying devotion to watching those long fingers quickly comb or brush back newly shorn hair. He was always tempted to touch, though he knows he won't. It wasn't until they stand on set, in the middle of blocking a scene with Sam and Dean, he had felt safe enough to lean over and pet or touch the hair—totally “in character”. If he happened to do this without the camera rolling, it was brushed off like the action was a tease.

The motions are never innocent caresses: he'll grab the side of Jared's neck, fingertips carding through the underbelly of the blunt cut off the nap. The strands are softer than he had imagined, even when they're doused in sprays and gels to hold every wispy lock in place. Jensen had found ways to fake his need by cleaning off the strands when the hair was caked in dirt or fake blood, or some god-awful goop depicting ghostly ectoplasm. Between takes, Jensen had devised ways to touch the hair: he'll pick off a leaf or a twig, swipe dust off Jared's shoulder, but he'll always find ways to feel the sweep of a few strands—even in the briefest of minutes.

Two-years of the same Sam-hair and Jared was asked to possibly think about growing his hair out for next season, or at least let his bangs lengthen so they cover his ridiculously high forehead. Kripke's default excuse is that Sam Winchester is getting older, and so he must have a “big boy” haircut. They wonder if it's even possible to let the locks in the back grow to almost reach Jared's broad shoulders. Jared had promised to not cut his hair during hiatus and to patiently wait until he returns to set for the third season.

Secretly, Jensen hadn't been able to deny he loved watching Jared's transformation during the hiatus months. It was mainly because he had become familiar with Jared letting his style go all out during the downtime: not only was the hair longer, but there was some damn sexy-ass stubble coating the lower jaw and along the stretch of throat. These are the more torturous months because as Jensen realizes his kink goes deeper than normal, the only image he can conjure and cling to was that all that hair...is _his_ —his to abuse and his to use for his own freakish desires.

Jared _is_ his hair; the hair becomes Jared's trademark. It really doesn't take long for Jensen to ponder if he even imagines that wanting the hair means he wants Jared too. He hadn't even grasped his kink much less realized he also had a want, or even a need, for Jared.

Jensen tries to not be so fascinated, or turned on, by the hair—or how it looks on Jared. It's become such a kink for him that he often gets irrationally jealous, thinking about others taking ownership of that hair and doing the things to it that Jensen only fantasizes about. He gets an unnatural itch in his hands, quaking his fingers every time he's near Jared, and even when they talk over their cell phones—it's because he pictures Jared sifting those long, beautiful fingers with every toss of his hair over his shoulder as he talks, like how he looks or reacts in person.

People, fans of the show and fans of Jared, have a fifty-fifty love/hate relationship with the hair. Jensen used to not like the shagginess, unkempt look, but getting to know Jared had shown him that the hair didn't make the person. He loves Jared—like a brother, best friend—and the hair is a portion of him, hence having to come to grips with the hair or ostracize himself needlessly. He guards and protects Jared quite often so he does much the same for the hair—only _he_ can make fun of it, pet it or let it curl about his fingers and lay against his palm.

Jensen can't remember exactly when this hair kink switched into full gear. He had recalled being in bed with Danneel; staring at the way her own long auburn locks brushed his bare skin while fucking, and how that simple action caused gooseflesh all over his body and his cock to stand at attention for longer than usual. Danneel would always try to use her own strands as part of their sexual experience in bed, but it wasn't a standing request from Jensen. She'd drive him completely batshit, so close to coming he'd arch off the bed a few times and then she'd wind her hair upward, tying the length off, out of the way with a single twist of her wrist.

Granted, she didn't leave him high and dry, she did other things to bring him to release quite eloquently, but in the quiet hours of the aftermath Jensen's mind would go right into thinking about Jared's hair and wondering what that soft-silkiness would feel like against him, or even if Jared wouldn't deny him the right to come with just the caress of a few strands. _Would he let him come on the actual hair?_ Jensen couldn't help thinking that Danneel would be disgusted even by him being curious or trying to find out if any other guy she'd been with had been this freaky. It was a dead issue for him at this point.

Sadly, that one single moment of bringing the thought of Jared's hair into his bed created a fantasy point Jensen sent his mind when he wasn't feeling particularly gung-ho about sex that night. It was the right not to have the hair that made it that much more tantalizing, even when he had a girlfriend with a full head of gorgeous long strands—longer than Jared's.

Though Danneel's hair was soft and smelled like jasmine, there was a coarseness to the texture that said there was too much product holding locks in place. He had started to replace hers with Jared's plusher strands each time he felt the caresses sweeping over his chest, grazing his pert nipples; he had jolted and arched off the mattress, coming in fast spurts inside the condom. Jensen had cried out his erotic pain as teeth had gnawed around his sensitive nipples and dainty hands shaped his torso. He had tried to dampen the image of Jared, and his hair out of his head to concentrate in the very moment, but it was becoming difficult. As Danneel slept on his chest, he had spread her hair on his bare skin. Though not the exact hair or color he was looking to get off to, he still had rested his cheek on top of her head, his right had soothed her nape and fingers sifted at the hairline. Jensen was the worst boyfriend, ever; he felt like a bastard for cheating in his mind with Jared's hair.

On set, thankfully, after that first time, Jensen hadn't had to see Jared straight away. The sexualization of Jared's hair—his Sam-hair—was causing him to feel very naughty and dirty; thoughts of dragging Jared into his trailer for a “quickie”, while Jared would sit on the floor at his feet, stuck between his bowed legs, with his head tilted back.

Oh, yeah...Jensen had taken to formulating “hair scenarios” in his poor, fragile mind of just how he would go about debauching Jared's hair. If Jared knew, he might laugh it off, tease Jensen mercilessly for months on end, but Jensen didn't even want to put his weird kink out into the ether. He would keep everything to himself, until it combusted on him or he couldn't live with himself anymore thought he wasn't truly having an affair with the hair.

Jensen allowed himself the leeway, while on set, acting with Jared, to touch or caress “Sam” by the hair however “Dean” needed, but he had to ween himself off the temptations in reality, no matter how badly he made himself suffer in silence.

==&&==&&==

Nothing has worked to take Jensen's mind off much else but what he's intentionally denying himself. Instead of letting himself give in to some instances of being intimate and close with Jared, like they typically do, he's almost gone cold turkey. But now he's even turned his back a little on being sexually exploratorive with Danneel; it's as if he gets in bed, goes through the motions, comes quick and then rolls away to hibernate and keep his secrets close to his heart.

There's no doubt what's going on with Jensen has affected everybody around him, especially those closest to him—Danneel and Jared directly.

In easiest terms, Jensen hasn't been able to stop thinking about hair—Jared's hair. It's longer now, at the shooting schedule for the fourth season, and there has been a little reprieve as Sam and Dean have pretty much gone their separate ways, choosing to journey in different directions. Still, though, there are those occasional scenes to be shot where the brothers do interact, where Jensen has to somehow shove down his deepest want and turn on the anger or the disappointment; it works simply because he's actually pissed at himself and rather disappointed that he's reaching his early thirties and he's acting more like a petulant child every damn day he lets this fester.

It used to be the texture against his naked skin, but now it has spiraled into scent through his nostrils and overall grip when clutched in a fisted hand. He's thought a thousand time of having Jared on his knees, in the shower or on the bed—any bed—and having Jared drape over him so those long locks fan out over his flesh, skim his hardening nipples and then he can take his cock out, jerking until he comes hard. Then Jensen thinks about coming directly onto the hair, combing each stringy, sticky glob through the strands as he brushes them back from Jared's face, while the sensitized skin of his deflating erection sifts through the brown hair to release pent-up sexual tension that has built over the last year or so.

He's become a freak and he knows it, and it scares him that he's overstimulated on one aspect of Jared, when his heart adores the whole person. He can't admit any of this to Jared, so he keeps living in sin with the secret shame of violating the only man he's ever genuinely given his heart, and soul, to.

Now in their fourth year, it's become such a knee-jerk reaction to play big brother “Dean” to Jared's little brother “Sam” as he feels all those same feelings for Jared in real life. Granted their—literal—“bro-mance” on screen is made of sheer awkwardness at times, it's taken Jensen four years to come to grips that the Winchesters are fucked in the head and have the most unusual, and sometimes unhealthy, relationship he's encountered. He considers this as to why he's suddenly developed a kink for Jared's hair; the show corrupted him and made him have erotic thoughts about irrational things.

Jared and he often discuss the hidden secrets behind the brotherly affections and attachments; neither man outright claiming Sam nor Dean have _those_ kind of feelings for each other—no matter how much the fans on the Internet would like to speculate. Both men have siblings, both have older brothers; they love them, but they aren't “in love” with them. It's a private tease between them, on that they are fully aware some fans of theirs cling to relentlessly. They aren't unaware of a possible incestuous coupling between their characters, they simply don't need anymore help to feel more spotlighted as the two “hot and good-looking” brothers who can sometimes come off with gay undertones. They've always been comfortable in themselves and between one another; they were the ones who knew the whole truth. They don't cave to outside opinions.

This is why Jensen feels like the worst human being on the planet when he's with Jared, alone. He feels perverted, and very dirty. He's never thought about a guy sexually, though he's pretty quick to call another male “attractive” or “handsome”, even “sexy”. Now he feels like he's living a lie, even from himself.

Every once and awhile, Jensen has become fully cognizant that he can be totally naughty, just to see what he can get away with, without coming out. On set, or whenever he spends time with Jared off screen, he feels safe enough to test the limits.

Like the time Jared told him he could find what he was looking for in Jared's trailer, so while it was empty, Jensen popped a stiffy being in Jared's bathroom, fingering combs, brushes and hair products he knew that were used to maintain Jared's “Sam”.

Or the time he made the lame excuse of his shower not working—he could've said “out of hot water”—so he could use the shampoos Jared did before he left the set at the end of a long shooting schedule. He had strolled out of the bath, in a towel, wearing underwear beneath, and plopped down on Jared's queen-sized bed in the back. He lay out, spread-eagled, touching his chest and tugging at his erect nipples, then slowly rolled to face-plant into Jared's pillows—either one of the two as he knew how much of a restless sleeper Jared could be. Jensen had shut his lids, laying there with his body limp and relaxed, then felt the sudden need to quickly pump his hips into the mattress. The tight friction was glorious, but he didn't come, always denying himself a full release as a small punishment. But also because he was wary of Jared busting in on him—who needed that embarrassment?

Jensen's absolute worst deviance was only last week. Jensen had arrived to set at some ungodly hour, making sure he was there before Jared. Days before, Jensen had inquired about the Jared's stylist's routine—how she took care of Jared's hair. He had talked about the reason why he asked as if he wanted to pull an elaborate prank on Jared; they were notorious for these things, so the stylist never thought it was odd. She wanted no part in it and even wondered if she could bolt before Jensen made her an accessory to his crime. She agreed to have Jared “prepped”, relaxed in the shampoo chair, his neck in the dip of the sink ledge, with his ear buds in from his iPod. She had told Jensen that Jared typically would fall asleep once he was in a “zone”. After that, Jensen could try to pull off his prank or whatever he planned to do with Jared.

He had quietly entered the make-up and hair trailer, thanking the young woman as he gave her an unscheduled twenty minute break. Jensen couldn't believe his luck, how easy this was to mastermind a moment where he could finally be as hands-on with Jared's hair and comb through the strands; the added bonus was Jared being unaware and partially asleep. The smell of the shampoo and the warmth of the temperate water-spray had caused Jensen to immediately stiffen. He had used one hand to sift as he wet the hair itself with his other, holding the sprayer. He was amazed at how long the lengths were and how thick—like a horse's mane.

Jensen began squeezing out the excess liquid as he pumped out dabs of shampoo, lathering them between his palms. He barely shook Jared as he had suds-upped the entire scalp, paying close attention to the hairline at the nape; he was more intense with massaging knowing Jared complained a lot about tangles in the back there. The motion had Jared arching up a little off the dip in the shampoo bin, lips parting as an exhale of breath released in slumber.

Jensen slipped out of a professional stylist mode and dived right into his deep desire to play out a “scene” with his new kink. Of course, in his head, Jared knew and was totally consenting, but the thrill of Jared waking to see it was him had Jensen even more ragged with pleasure. He soothed the back of his hand over Jared's cheek and lower jaw, clamping a hand over the wide berth of the throat to settle the body to calm.

As Jensen scrubbed with one hand, his other let his fingertips dance along the two buttons open of Jared's own plaid shirt. Jensen played at the spattering of dark chest curls, then went back to caressing the stubbled cheek. He hadn't noticed Jared starting to breathe heavily as he switched on the water-spray again, turning the angle onto the sudsy hair as he scrubbed and squeezed until the shampoo bubbles disappeared down the drain. Jensen had gotten a really hurried lesson on how the stylists handled the “conditioning” portion of the hair's process, so he didn't want Jared to figure out anything was different.

Jensen had snatched one of the medium-sized towels, patting dry and squeezing out excess water; he kept himself behind Jared as he covered the material over Jared's head, waking him up to sit upright and lean forward. He did another series of pats and squeezes, now able to hear the hum of soft guitar-laced music through the earbuds Jared wore. He recognized the tune and hummed along as he removed the towel, having Jared hold it over his face. Taking five fingers of each hand, Jensen combed backward from nape hairline to the top of Jared's head; Jensen did this motion about five or six times. He quickly grabbed for the spray bottle and, even though Jared was protected by the towel, Jensen still used his hand to protect Jared's face and eyes. Hooking the bottle off a belt loop, Jensen did the motion with all ten fingers again—this time only three times; he bit down on both the top and bottom of his lips so hard as his gut clenched once Jared flipped the wet, conditioner-moist strands backward to fall into place.

Jared was acting sleepy, since he never removed the towel, simply letting Jensen sift the locks back from the front of his high forehead. Jared had even known where to settle his neck, back on the dip at the sink ledge, able to rinse out the conditioner as it had set-in for the usual sixty-second treatment. The stylists typically would allow Jared to sleep a little longer in the chair, about a minute or two, so the hair could drain before setting a light coat of all-day conditioner on the moist strands.

This moment was Jensen's cue to trade places. He had left the make-up trailer with a throbbing boner banging against the button-fly of his jeans, wanting to pop out and say “hello”. He had used a curt, clipped tone with everyone on the way back to his own trailer, and he locked himself in the back bedroom. Thrown over his right shoulder had been one of the towels used on Jared's hair, still scented and wet as he unbuttoned his jeans, dropped his boxer briefs to his knees and only had to tug once, then twice before he held the material to his nostrils, sniffing for five seconds and shot wads of come through the air that landed on the stain-resistant carpeting at his bedside. He had weakly sat down, more ashamed than ever, not only for the way he had snuck around to get a moment alone with Jared—well, Jared's hair—and then how he had ended the heightened occasion with a solitary masturbation session with a wet towel. He had ended up using it to sop up his semen, trying to wash away building guilt, but it wasn't going to make this any less shameful since he would be seeing Jared on set shortly.

Luckily, it was an outside shot, with the Impala. While Jensen patiently waited along an alley wall, they set up the lighting for the blocking; Jared was reported to be late to set. Jensen could hear them finishing up, the crew yelling back and forth to one another. He yanked out the asides from his jacket pocket and reviewed exactly what he was supposed to do and in what order. He knew if he didn't do this without Jared around, he'd become flustered and fuck up the order of his tasks—maybe even flub a line as he walked and took out the Impala's keys from his jean pocket.

Jensen looked up, spotting Jared's flowing, perfect hair bouncing in the breeze—he felt a little proud that he had been a part of making it look so healthy and beautiful. But he started frowning the second he saw Jared's tight features and flushed cheeks. He pocketed his script, then narrowed his gaze on Jared's darting gaze around the people standing off set.

“Dude...you look like you ran a marathon to git here.” Jensen reached out to lightly tap a palm on Jared's chest wall. “Take a breather. We got, maybe, five more minutes before they call 'Action'.”

Jared couldn't help it, he kept tucking his once-styled hair behind his ears. “Do I look—all right?”

Jensen felt his breath catch. “Hair? Make-up? What?”

“Man...” Jared shook his head, trying to fix the upturned collar of his coat that was bothering him. “—I don't know. I think that part-time shampoo girl they hired has the hots for me.”

Jensen quirked up one side of his mouth, knowing who had shampooed Jared's hair only minutes ago. “Oh? Why? Do you think she's interested in you?” He was truly curious to what Jared had to say.

Jared was now tugging on his cuffs, making sure shirt lengths matched jacket lengths. “She, uh—” He looked around again, then leaned closer to Jensen's ear. He didn't hear the sharp intake of breath Jensen took in or the way his soft hair brushed against Jensen's newly shaved cheek. “—all she did was shampoo my hair like she usually does, but I, uh—she gave me a woody, man.”

Jensen couldn't help it; he snorted out a laugh, lifting his hand up to stifle the noise as heads turned to look at them. Jared was known to crack Jensen up quite often; this was their “norm”. “Oh, wow...that—is a new one.” Still wanting to keep the air between them lively and humorous, Jensen slapped the back of his hand against Jared's chest. “So—you gonna ask her out, Romeo?”

Jared hooked his thumbs at the back pockets of his jeans—Sam's jeans—then let a soft grin slip out over his lips. “Actually...I wouldn't mind askin' for her hand in marriage.” He snickered at his own try at teasing himself, elbowing Jensen, then being confused to why green eyes could only stare at him blankly. Jared used one of his hands to pull at his layers of shirts to show Jensen that he'd been quite hot-n-bothered after the shampoo and conditioning, then he quite possibly had gone off somewhere to put on his Sam-clothes and jacked off before donning the jeans, shirts and jacket.

At least that was how Jensen's fantastical mind worked it in his head, and that's exactly what he used to take to bed with him at night, trying to fall asleep in the downstairs bedroom, while Jared slept upstairs.

==&&==&&==

Things with Danneel hit a cool-down phase; they wanted to spend Christmas together, before Jensen heads back home to spend New Year's with his family, but Danneel's plans go awry when her family shows up and avalanches her world into chaos. She had wanted to go out to them, rather than them come to her, so she could spend some time away to think about her life, her work and where Jensen exactly fits. Jensen already knows the Padalecki's are coming down on Christmas Eve, some of them staying until New Year's, but he hadn't wanted to throw himself in a family gathering when he wasn't invited.

Jensen doesn't know how, but Jared's mother gets wind of Jensen possibly spending the holidays alone. Jensen blames Jared completely, pretty sure he let it slip out naturally as Jared's wishy-washy with the boundaries of Jensen's life bleeding into his own. Jared often thinks of Jensen as “family”, or that Sherri Padalecki needs a fourth child, a third son, and Jensen is the perfect candidate.

He gets a random call on his cell phone while packing a small duffel, and sees that it's the Padalecki home phone back in San Antonio. He answers and proceeds to—somehow—get hoodwinked into switching his plans for a third time; now he'll spend Christmas Eve and Day with Jared and the rest of the Padaleckis'. He hates Jared about now, mainly because he hasn't bought a thing in lieu of presents for any of them, except Jared. But he had hoped to be far away when Jared found his present to him, once he's back home in Richardson.

Jared's oddly silent on the car ride home from set. Jensen's worried because it's not Jared's usual routine, especially around the holidays or when he knows his family's going to come out and visit with him. He attempts to go over in his head a laundry list of reasons Jared looks so preoccupied and confused, his brow in a constant furrow as the SUV moves along the Vancouver highways. Jensen begs a look at Clif, through the rear-view mirror, but receives a mild shrug as if the bodyguard has already tried to inquire what was wrong with Jared.

It's a little different when they're inside the house, stuck behind a locked door. Jared sighs and moves his broad shoulders like he's shucking off a public persona's skin and settling down to be a normal homeowner, about to get ready to make a meal for his immediate family, arriving later on this afternoon. Jensen is reassured that maybe the moodiness from earlier was simply a passing thing as he joins in Jared's enthusiasm and takes on the few tasks he's allowed to perform in order to prepare the house, while Jared starts the food.

As always, this time together is an easy camaraderie, because Jared is _just Jared_ ; there's his usual teasing and exuberance, but there's also a subduedness underlying since he knows in a few hours he has to behave with his parents and siblings, and be the mature host in his own home. Jensen had found a small patch of time to shower and change—a t-shirt and new jeans, which later he'll put on a simple sport jacket over the whole outfit to complete the ensemble. He eventually approaches Jared and lets him go upstairs to shower and change once the clock shows the time to be around the hour the Padaleckis' claimed they'd be arriving.

Of course, something delays Jared upstairs, so when the doorbell rings, Jensen steps up to be the welcoming committee and he's a bit overwhelmed by all the tight hugs and pats on his backs—the soft caresses to his shaved cheeks from Sherri and Megan. There's something to be said about Jared's family; once you get to know them you never feel like you weren't ever a part of their lives. Still, even after knowing Jared for almost four years, and then some, Jensen's introverted around them. Both Sherri and Gerald are used to this reaction from the young man, so they never make it something prominent to bother Jensen about; it's just like never being able to quite contain all of Jared's energy without compromising who their younger boy was.

When Jared finally comes downstairs, it's Megan who meets him at the bottom as he envelopes her smaller frame—but still tall by Padalecki standards—in both of his arms, lifting her up in the air off her feet. He spins her around to meet Jeff, who returns the same embrace his baby brother always has ready for him, both men clapping one another on their large backs. Gerald hugs much the same like Jeff, with a touch of Jared's enthusiasm, but he curtails his joy because he realizes exactly which parent his son was looking forward to seeing most.

It isn't until Jensen watches the family part like the Red Sea, Jared standing tall and looming over his shorter mother, that he in-draws a sharp breath at how utterly striking Jared is when he intentionally dresses up to impress. He's seen Jared in suits and tuxes, in different outfits on set, but there's something mouth-watering about a simple pair of black slacks coupled with a rusty-brown button-down shirt that's tucked in, a leather belt around a thick waist, with shiny loafers _clap-clapping_ along hardwood floors. The clothes aren't traditional holiday colors; they actually look as if they're being worn to bring out Jared's mane of sable hair and darker, tanned looks to prove how healthy and fit he is.

Jared puts out both hands like he's about to grab his mother's face, but then he brings those hands to his own face as if in shock that she's standing before him. She's no longer a voice through distant phone lines and she's not making empty promises he fears she'll have to break or he'll have to cancel. His mom's here and all he has to do is reach out and touch her.

Jensen doesn't realize how emotionally tied up in knots he's been until he feels the clog in his throat and the moisture gather in his eyes. For him, it's been a long time since he's ever felt that ache to be home, to have a part of home before him to get all sentimental and melancholy about. He has to look away, a hand on his hip as he turns to swipe a palm over his face. But then Jensen's back to staring, to narrowing his gaze on Jared to witness him finally cover those huge hands over Sherri's wet cheeks, the tender way Jared draws that portly body to his own and then looks as if he drapes all over her, pulling back to rain gooey-icky kisses on her flushed face as she laughs and tries to shove Jared's face away.

Every single member of the Padalecki family should be used to this reaction by now, but the longer and the sweeter the years are in passing, without Jared around, it becomes exactly how they feel and wish they could express; instead they're willing to live vicariously through Sherri and Jared. They never hide their emotions when seeing one another, nor are they willing to deny their right to grieve and pine, wishing that fame and somewhat-fortune could've kept them closer.

Jensen leans along the wall, crossing his arms over his clenching gut; he tries to wipe away a lone tear with the roll of his left shoulder. Jared tells everyone to bring in their bags and the truckload of presents, adding them to the ones under the Christmas tree in the living room. Once he and Sherri have done one last check on the food, then turning the task over to Sherri, Jared will direct each Padalecki to their own bedroom.

Eagerly wishing to invade on this moment, only to add his two cents—he's about to give up his own bed to Megan or Jeff—Jensen steps away from the wall and puts his foot in front of Jared's next step. “Jared...we need to—”

“I'll meet you outside, Dad...an' give you a hand.” Jared is wiping away the tears on his cheeks, turning his wide smile onto Jensen. “uh-yeah, wha's up, man?”

Jensen feels like shit. He's never quite right when he sees Jared _this_ emotional. He doesn't want to leave Jared alone; he doesn't want to leave Jared, _ever_. “I've been wondering—is it right for me to _still_ be here? I mean, with them here and only having four beds—” He's trying to bring up the point that there are four bedrooms in this house: one is his, one is Jared's which only leaves two for the four people left over.

One hand lifts up to slap around Jensen's neck to bring him close to Jared's face, so they can speak low and in private. “They told me they'd work it out between them: Mom and Dad in one bed, with Jeff and Megan in another bed, or Mom with Megan, Jeff with Dad.” He shrugged one shoulder, patting his other hand over Jensen's chest, fitting his fingers under the lapel of the sport jacket. He plays with the feel of the soft cotton of the t-shirt Jensen's wore, as if he likes the warmth radiating under his palm. “It's sweet that you're worried it's an actual issue that you're here, but...Mom was pretty adamant she wanted you to stay until you had to leave.” Jared's hand at Jensen's nape moves down to shape over the dip of the shoulder.

Jensen shuts his lids, smelling Jared's shampoo and cologne blending together, not to mention feeling those silky strands sweep out from behind Jared's ear and brush Jensen's face every so often. “Damn...you pulled the Sherri-card on me.” He slowly opens his eyes to find Jared's own gaze searing into his face. “You know how weak I am around her.” Jensen's even weaker around Jared when he's like _this_. He spares a side-glance toward the kitchen, knowing how much Jared knows he envies him for the way his mother is free with her emotions, then the way she embraces anyone who treats her baby boy with a modicum of decency.

Probably why Sherri thinks the world of Jensen: that he's an incredible human being and such a beautiful soul since he pretty much has told her he does love Jared—but not “in love”. Jensen never knows how to act around Sherri because he's never been so warmly accepted just because of the way he feels about a person, a person who is easy to have those kinds of intimate affections for. She knows Jared is a handful, and that he can chase people away sometimes with his overzealous friendliness, but she is able to notice that Jensen's matured Jared in small ways no one else has been able to. At least no one has cared enough to try.

Jared did his typical fake pout, while sticking out his bottom lip, then surrounds both of his long, muscular arms around Jensen. It's different than other hugs previously, simply because Jared holds him by sweeping his hands under Jensen's arms so he can take him in low and grab hard enough to almost lift Jensen off the floor.

“I love you for thinking of my family before yourself, but—I _want_ you here.” Jared settles Jensen down, loosening his embrace a little as he pulls backward. “I didn't know how much until this very moment.” He gives off a tiny smirk, fidgeting with the lapels off Jensen's chest, then tapping a hand over a stubbled cheek. “You're a part of my family too.” Jared pulls completely away, still holding onto one of Jensen's hands as he brings the top to his mouth and presses the corner of his lips on the skin, like he's about to kiss, but he doesn't.

Jensen watches Jared wander away, watches the play of soft cotton-blend material over Jared's ass, where usually loose denim rests. The guy's got an incredible backside, plump and slightly high, where the long legs taper down to huge feet. Everything on Jared is in excess, large and engulfing, there's no doubt that hidden beneath the clothes are more surprises to just how big Jared can be. Jared skirts around the kitchen, trying to sneak kisses to Sherri's cheeks, hugging her from the back and trying to mess with her perfectly pinned-up hair.

Jensen never truly noticed it before, but Sherri's dark brown bun, sprinkled with grays and silvers now, is something she must've passed on down to her children, especially to Jared. Jared's hands sculpt over Sherri's shoulders and kneads the areas as he listens to her instructions, or her praises on how well he's done with her recipes.

Jensen could smack himself over the head; of course that was why Jared was continually kicking him out of the kitchen, because he didn't want Jensen to mess with his mother's food; Jared had wanted to make her proud. _Dammit!_ Jensen shakes his head, feeling utterly disarmed with this need he kept having to put up a wall, or guard himself. He needs to stop turning into a Grinch and go with the flow, letting people around him guide him throughout the evening. The same way he allows Jared to guide him on set and in their own personal life together.

==&&==&&==

As the hour chimes close to one in the morning, Jensen lays curled on the overstuffed chair, near the blinking lights of the Christmas tree. Television volume is low, and he can hear Jared and Sherri's conversation in the kitchen and dining room as it ebbs and flows throughout the echoing of the walls. He's fading in and out of sleep as he huddles under his new zippered wool sweater Gerald and Sherri had presented to him; his legs are stretched out over the matching ottoman as he wears the comical Texas Longhorn slippers Megan had gifted him. He's so damn sleepy, comfortable and unwilling to move from this very spot. His arms are folded around his body and the satellite receiver remote is perched on his right thigh.

Jensen is drowsy enough to pay as much attention to the distant chatter as his body will allow.

 _“_   
_...that boy, Jared—he'll be the death, or life, of you.”_

 _“_   
_I got it, Mom. It's fine. It's always been fine. It's good where we are. It's—_   
**  
_really_   
**   
_good.”_

 _“_   
_You have to tell him before it's too late.”_

 _“_   
_I'm not—there's no rush. There's never been a rush. It has to be the right time. I care too much to let my issues interrupt his life, or hold him back from his own happiness.”_

 _“_   
_I'm still worried, but I can tell how happy you are. Since Sandy...I was concerned, but I guess I shoulda known, huh? You've been this way for a while.”_

There's a long pause, a throat clears and a sniffle sounds.

 _“_   
_I can see he's a good man, hon'. You could do worse.”_

 _“_ _He_ ** _is_** _a good man, Mom, and...”_ There's no denying Jared's all smiles as he states these words, _“—I think I'm old enough to know what I'm doing, who I choose to have in my life.”_

 _“_   
_I know you are, but you'll always—always—be my special baby boy. That won't ever change.”_

 _“_ _I know.”_ There's some rather suspect noises, like the sounds of sloppy kisses and childlike giggles. _“oh, God, Mom—Really?”_

Jensen snickers softly to himself because he can only imagine what Sherri did to make Jared groan those last few words. He only uses the ten seconds he remains awake to wonder who this mysterious “man” is Jared speaks about. Jensen won't let his mind consider it could possibly be him they're discussing, he's too relaxed and exhausted to use one more brain cell to figure out.

==&&==&&==

When he wakes up again, Jared is sitting in front of Jensen, on the floor at his feet; Jensen had his right leg extended, left foot planted on the floor. Jared had twisted the ottoman at an angle, keeping Jensen's leg propped, then fit his body up against Jensen and the chair. Jared's stolen the remote, using Jensen's extended leg to prop his head on, crossing his arms to lay his cheek down; he holds his own arm outward, shooting the infrared of the remote toward the satellite box, scrolling through every movie channel he pays for.

Jensen blinks once and already sees that it's turning out to be a true white Christmas in Vancouver outside on the patio deck. “—damn. Think it's trying to stick?” He's only worried because both he and a few of the Padaleckis have exiting flights out of the airport in the next two or three days.

Jared barely lifts his head, then presses the numbers for the Weather Channel. “It's supposed to be warm and sunny, but tha's by Canadian standards.” He pauses to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit “Low 50s, high 40s.” He then presses the recall button to go back to the previous channel he was on.

Jensen hears the TV volume lower as Jared throws the remote down on the cushion of the ottoman, turns to face Jensen and curls his hands around the outside of Jensen's thighs to ride the underside to where the waist folds in half in the chair. Jared stands upright on his knees, keeping low as he tilts his head to the right, laying his head on the high arm of the overstuffed chair; Jensen had leaned his head over while in slumber, never having moved an inch except to open his eyes once he woke.

Hazel eyes are in a dead stare with green.

“Why did you give up your bed to Meg?”

“Dude...have you seen my cool Longhorn slippers?”

Jared busts out laughing, shaking his head. “You're not gonna sneak out on me an' go stay at Chris or Steve's hotel room, are you?”

“I should. I feel like I've intruded.”

“You haven't. You're family, Jensen. My family loves you. Mom would adopt you if she could. She's never liked Jeff too much.” Jared dodges a soft punch, but can't get out of the way of the ruthless pinch. “Ow-ch!”

“Sorry.” Jensen isn't. He blinks, looks at the television, then back to Jared staring at him. “Why do you keep doing _this_ to me?”

“What?” Jared pulls back a little, afraid he had invaded too much personal space.

Jensen reaches out to snag Jared's wrist. “whoa! No, no—you're fine. _This_ is okay. I'm talking about letting me in too close when you know how awkward I am, or how uncomfortable I can get. This shoulda been for you and your family, Jared. I know I'm part of that, but we're in one anothers' lives more than anybody. I just—” He finally sees how glassy Jared's eyes are. “You're tipsy.” Jensen chuckles softly, rubbing his thumb pad over Jared's pulse point.

“—an' you're cute when you're bein' pushy, an' shy—an' sleepy.” Jared slurs in that cute southern drawl of his then grins only to hiccup shortly after.

“Lightweight.” Jensen tugs on Jared's wrist, then digs around for the other hand to make sure it's not about to hide somewhere on his body he's not prepared for. “—c'mon, ya big dumb lush.”

Jared lets out a soft giggle, hiccups and allows Jensen to guide him where he wants him to go—it was only to rest torso on top of torso. Jared slinks down to lay his flushed cheek against Jensen's new [as far as he was aware] zippered wool sweater.

“We should turn up the heat before bed.”

“I fully agree.” Jared feels the flick of fingers on his ear. “ow-ch!” He covers the injured lobe.

“You know what I meant.”

“I do. I'll turn the thermostat up before I take the stairs.”

“You gonna be able to make it up the steps?”

“—maybe—probably—I dunno. I'll stay down here—with you, on the couch.” Jared motions with his chin where a pile of linen and a pillow await Jensen.

“You should go upstairs; sleep in your own bed.”

“Come with me. It's not like we've never shared a bed before.”

Jensen wants to agree, but it has been since he's developed the new kink about Jared's hair. “ahhh—no!”

“Why not?” Jared looks offended.

“Because.”

“mmm...you're soundin' a little Grinch-like to me.”

“Christ!” Jensen knew he would regret revealing that information to Jared, and the Padalecki family, at dinner tonight. “I swear, I get around you guys and it's like I turn into this water faucet of private issues and childhood secrets.”

“mmm—I like it.” Jared soothes over Jensen's chest wall. “The more I learn 'bout you, more I lo-ike you.”

“Did you just make that word up?” Jensen's able to figure out what Jared had truly meant to say, but he won't broach the subject at the moment.

“I'm drunk.”

“You're tipsy.”

“Drunk. I should know, Jen.”

“There's a difference, Jared, because you're hiccuping—which you never do—an' you're giggling a little between your words.”

“—'round the holidays, Mom enjoys hot cocktails before bed.” Jared licks his lips, like he has sticky liquid on his top lip, or at least he can still taste it.

Jensen tries not to watch the way the tongue dances across the top lip. “You'd be a fun Christmas Eve date.”

“You mean I'm not one now?” Jared's lets his tone change inflection as he sounds disappointed.

“I wasn't even aware this was a 'date'.”

“It wasn't. I'm lying.”

“Me, too.”

“huh.”

“Nothin'. Close your eyes, Jared. Sleep off the alcohol.” Jensen keeps his hand placed on Jared's lower back, caressing up and down.

“—mmm, you're kinda cozy, like a koala bear.”

“Thanks—I think.”

“Jen?”

“hmm?”

“Remind me when we're in bed—to tell you why your sweater is special.”

Jensen feels his body tense at the easy slip of the words out of Jared's mouth. “uh—oh-kay.” He laughs softly, simply brushing off the comment of Jared being loopy and tired. When he feels Jared go slack in his arms, the tufts of quick breathes show how exhausted Jared had been.

While his right hand twines, laying palm-to-palm with Jared's, Jensen's left hand untucks from around Jared's back to move and press against the long nape, underneath the sweep of hair. There's something poignant about this moment that Jensen can't put his finger on.

A combination of darkness and alternating Christmas lights illuminating with the glow of the television screen gives off a feeling of aloneness from the big bad world outside, making them feel like they're the only ones left on the planet in a fifty mile radius.

Jensen has never taken full advantage of being left with Jared in the quiet early hours, but Jared usually was the one to initiate much of their intimacy.

==&&==&&==

Jensen doesn't know how he and Jared made it to the couch, how sheets got tucked around cushions or how their bodies were covered by the thick comforter. He doesn't know how Jared was able to change into a t-shirt and thin sweatpants to sleep or how the hell Jared became the one situated, and plastered, to the back of the couch—face first. What Jensen's mainly focused on is that—as they share the same pillow—Jensen's been snoozing right next to Jared's hair. In fact, one more inch and he'll face-plant in the fluffy spread.

God, it's a dream to be so close, but still be denied.

He feels his cock harden beneath his tight boxers—and who exactly undressed him? His arms are wound around Jared's body; Jared's own hands hold his forearms tight about his own shape. Their chests, waists, butts and upper thighs are aligned, but Jensen—as the shorter of them—tucks his ankles and feet between Jared's. They don't have the comforter pulled entirely over them because they both generate enough warmth between their bodies.

Taking a small risk while Jared slumbers, Jensen leans closer, intending to bury his face in the pliant strands, inhale, curb his erection and then try to fall back asleep. But he misjudges the angle and his nose bumps the hairline, lips grazing the bare neck. In sleep, Jared cants backward, his thinly-covered backside brushing over Jensen's hidden stiffness. Jensen intakes a sharp breath then bites down on the exposed skin above the t-shirt collar. He doesn't use his teeth, rather he nips tenderly; Jared lets out a groan and stretches his tall frame, settling back on Jensen's chest. He tightens Jensen's arms around him, softly snortling as he easily falls back asleep.

Jensen feels tortured, conflicted. He doesn't know why he's so afraid of how Jared will react; it's obvious he's aroused, but that could be excused as _morning wood_. Jensen is becoming curious; this is the oddest position Jared's ever chosen for himself. The guy is huge, but huddled into his own body, and buried in couch cushions, Jared resembles a much smaller, innocent boy. Slowly, Jensen eases his right hand out of Jared's loosening grip. Splaying five fingers out, Jensen smooths the finger pads down and along Jared's rib cage, falling to the front to caress the bare belly exposed by the rucked t-shirt hem and then he tries to casually brush his hand over Jared's crotch.

Once he feels the cotton material over his skin, Jensen begins to sense the pulsating heat of Jared's engorged cock; it's harder than his own, and it's long and thick—Jensen's a bit intimidated. He knows Jared has an impressive length, but the fact it's stiff and throbbing so intensely has Jensen even more curious, slightly confused. He pulls his hand back to make a fist in Jared's shirt, then he yanks the comforter up to put a protective barrier over Jared's hidden erection.

Rising to an elbow to lean over and bury his lips against Jared's throat, Jensen tries to pull away from the death-grip so he can breathe and clear his mind. He wishes he was as much of a slut as his hair kink has made him out to be, but he can't see treating Jared that coldly, use his body—well, his hair—and then turn his back to leave. He sits on the empty space created by the bend of Jared's knees; he leans forward to settle elbows on his thighs as one hand massages the other. His right hand still feels the heat and the thrum of blood collecting in Jared's cock.

As Jensen stays there, quiet and contemplative, it's not long before Jared wakes, feeling the chill on his back, turns and sees Jensen upright, hunched over in deep thought. Leaving his lower limbs turned to the left, Jared swivels his upper torso. His right arm extends to clamp a huge palm over Jensen's thigh, pinky grazing bare skin, then the hand shifts to latch onto Jensen's forearm. Watching Jensen comb through his short spikes, the massaging of his neck unnerves Jared.

“Talk to me, man. Whatever's bothering you, can't be that bad.”

“It's worse.”

“I can't help if I don't know, and I want to help—-so, let me in.” Jared's trying to pull Jensen's arm, so his hand can't do that nervous energy thing.

Jensen smiles morosely, giving a shake of his head as he twines his hand over Jared's. “I'm a fraud. I'm a Grade-A bold-faced liar.”

“About?” Jared goes still, quiet. He's barely breathing with fright. He hates the way Jensen lets things fester, the way he self-tortures and punishes himself until he cracks open.

“I shouldn't be here—with you, with your family—all this wholesome togetherness when what I've been thinking about doing—for a good, solid year—is stroking myself until I come on your hair.”

There. It was out. Time to deal with the ramifications.

“You wanna— _what_?”

“Jared, please—don't make me repeat it.”

“You said you want to, uh...fuck my hair?”

“Well, I want to come on it—or touch it, run my fingers through it while I come.”

“uh, yeah...you want to _fuck_ my hair.”

Jensen shuts his eyes, placing his left hand over his flushed face. “so, yeah, I suppose—in a way.”

“—but you don't wanna fuck me?” Jared swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing along his throat. “At all?” He sounds like he's upset that Jensen would say “yes”.

Jensen drops his hand over his mouth, his wide green eyes connecting with Jared's face and gaze that seem hurt, but yet kind of playful. “uhm, I'm not—”

“How long have you—?”

“Your hair—it's not always been something I was drawn to. Over the years, as it often superseded our characters and the show...dude, I developed this need—a want...a kink. Hair kink. Just your hair, no one else's appeals to me the same way.”

“Jesus, Jen...” Jared rises to his elbows. “—man, I—I'm seriously at a loss for words.”

“I haven't been as good of a friend—-or brother—that you've needed for far too long. I had to—my mind and my body worked to crumble me, but I had it so I could train them to think separately. Around you, on set—alone, here. Wherever. Even when you weren't around, there you were...thoughts of what I'd do to, and with, your hair.”

Jared gathered the comforter more prominently around his lower body, as if he really had something to keep hiding now. “Well, wow...I didn't think you'd confess that easily.”

“Christ! See, tha's why I didn't want to be—” The “here” dies on a choke as Jensen pushes to stand, but Jared yanks him back down. He plops on his ass, then falls back against Jared's chest; a hand cups his cheek, a thumb playing at the bow of the bottom lip. Jensen starts breathing heavily as Jared merges their foreheads, looking as if he'll attempt to kiss him in the next few seconds.

“Don't worry. I'm not angry or pissed. I don't think you're a fraud or a liar. Like usual, you protect me, like I protect you. I am glad you told me, not pleased it was with my whole family inches away from us...”

“Jared, I don't—”

“ssshhh...don't ruin the moment.”Jared places an index finger over Jensen's lips. “Let it settle around us and cause us to think of exactly where to go next.”

“I'll understand if you want me to leave.”

“But I don't. And I don't want you here—on the couch. You need to—I want you in my bed. I would like you to go upstairs and...well, I don't think I have to tell you the rest. Figure it out once you're there in the room.”

Jensen wonders if Jared's serious and the fact he won't meet Jensen's eyes is a surefire sign that Jared's done speaking, could Jensen do as he asks. In utter silence, Jensen stands, picks up his discarded clothes and slowly walks away; he's tempted to peek behind him, over his shoulder. He's afraid he's sent Jared into an emotional tailspin, and though he knows he's at fault, Jensen wants to be the only one to offer comfort. He feels responsible, wanting to fix what he may have broken.

This is the longest time he's ever taken to climb this staircase. By the time he's on the second floor, he shuffles along the railing to stare down, waiting to hear any sounds or movements from Jared. It's a different walk of shame to Jared's bedroom, the master suite of the house. Jensen's been here countless of times; he's even slept in the bed, with Jared in it. But the room takes on a different air when Jensen knows there's a slight chance Jared will give him what he's most wanted, what his body has been craving.

Jensen sets down his jeans—folded—and searches for an empty hanger in Jared's closets so he can hang this wool sweater that Jared claims is oh-so-special. He loops the metal hook off a dresser knob, pulling the arms to hold out the woven material. It reminds him of Irish wool, though he knows it's not. There are brown and grays, blacks and silvers weaved intricately and the suede elbow patches add a great handmade touch.

Jensen is standing there, lovingly admiring the sweater when he doesn't hear Jared wander in, lock the door and stand to his left at his back. He feels a strong arm surround him, settling at his waist, across his flat abdomen. Jared puts his chin on Jensen's shoulder. He doesn't pull Jensen toward him, just stands near, hovering.

Jensen closes his eyes, feeling Jared's heat, feeling his barest touch, the slight weight of his head propped on his shoulder. “I'll admit, you've got me curious.”

“Good. I know how much you like this stuff. I see you wear sweaters like this one a lot, especially 'round this time of year when it gets chilly at night.”

“In LA—never. Here—yes.”

“The first time I saw you in one of your sweater jackets, you broke my heart.”

“Why?”

“My gran'ma had made my gran'pa the same sweater to wear before he shipped out during the war. He thought it was the ugliest thing to ever exist.” Jared and Jensen share a hearty laugh. “But when he returned from war a shadow of his former self...there was this damn-ugly sweater, man—I can remember spending summers with him. I was a little littler and he would wear it. ALL.THE.TIME. He never bought a winter coat—it was that warm for him. He'd let me crawl over his lap, though he wasn't very emotional or sentimental. He'd let me snuggle and hold him, pet the softness, let it keep me warm to put me to sleep.”

“Jared—” The enormity of what Jared was saying finally struck Jensen.

“They put his things away, gave some to charity. He set his sweater aside for me, but I've never gotten aroun' to picking it up.”

Jensen stood still, feeling a bit ill and dizzy. “This is _it_ —this is _his_ sweater.”

“Growing up he was just 'Gran'pa'.” Jared's hand forms a fist, which he now rubs over Jensen's belly. “I had no idea to the true hero behind the sallow persona until he was gravely ill and—he didn't know how much I genuinely cared about him. He was a great, honorable man who stood for his country and loved his family. I asked Mom if she still had the sweater and could she have it professionally cleaned—no tellin' how much mildew and dust had collected on the material.”

“—jesus christ—”

“It was mine to have, if I wanted, which I did. It fit me all right, but I knew it would look better on you. And...that only you would appreciate the style, but also its background.”

“It's too much, Jared.”

“No, it's not enough. It's never gonna be enough because I can't—-there aren't any right words I can use to tell you how much you mean to me. I may talk your ear off, but quite often you've silenced me, unable to figure out what to say.”

“Like now?”

“Exactly. Like now. Which is why the saying 'actions speak louder than words' is appropriate.” Jared moves in front of Jensen, slowly advancing toward him as they both walk to the foot of the large California King bed. “—tell me your fantasies, Jen—tell me what you need from me to make this as real as it can be.”

“You're doing it again. Putting me on a pedestal. Treating me like I'm precious.”

“Do you want me to be angry? Treat you like shit?”

“no-no, of course not. But I want you to stop with giving me too much leeway and getting' nothin' in return for yourself.”

“I don't want much. I get off on other people's happiness, their joy and pleasure. I'm not looking for handouts or pity.”

Jensen places a palm on Jared's chest. “What are _your_ fantasies?”

“Later. It's your turn now.” As Jared sinks to his knees, he hooks fingers at Jensen's waistband and pulls the tight material down the thick thighs.

Jensen's self-conscious, trying to cover himself with one hand, but Jared swats his arm away. Jared under-grips the back of Jensen's knees, tilting his head as he kisses the hip and pelvic bone on the right then trails lips down the soft brown leg hairs on the pale limbs. Jensen's cock had softened, but is now semi-hard, except Jared doesn't appear interested in what's between Jensen's legs. That was fine with Jensen as he fists his length, reaching out with his right hand to comb back the few strands of Jared's hair. With no product, or very little, the texture is maddening between his fingers, against his skin. He thinks of ways he can roughly yank back the locks, but Jared keeps kissing down his body, then switches sides to start from the left knee on upward. Jensen stumbles a bit, then Jared pushes to have him sit on the mattress. Jared gets rid of the boxers around Jensen's ankles, splaying his huge hands over the tops of Jensen's thighs. Jensen covers one hand over Jared's, tangling their fingers as Jared stands on his kneecaps, looking into Jensen's darkening green gaze.

“Tell me what you want...”

Jensen slides his hand up Jared's arm, over his shoulder and cups the neck. “Sadly, I'm not inventive even in my kink fantasy. I worked solo, you simply happened to be there.”

“—with my hair.”

“Yes.” Jensen can hear the humor tinged in Jared's tone, trying to see how dirty or naughty he wasn't being thought of as. Jared's almost being playful about the hair kink.

“But never _me_ — _my_ face or _my_ body?”

Jensen tilts his head with a smirk. “Jealous?” If he is, it's really adorable.

“A little, but I'm strong. I can deal. Do you mind if I—?”

“uh, no-no. Do— _whatever_ , just...”

Jared rolls his eyes with a smirk; he knows what's most important in this scenario. “Keep the hair in view.”

“—sorry.” Now Jensen is beginning to feel bad, like an awful human being for lowering Jared's worth.

“Don't be. Oddly, this is not the strangest request I've had in bed.”

“Tell me later. Right now—”

“oh, I know. Mustn't forget the hair.”

For the next five minutes, maybe ten, Jared never lifts his face once, never connects eyes with Jensen. Jensen sends his fingers out: pulling, massaging, combing and squeezing...doing all he can do to Jared's hair with one hand. He's hard, but he can't seem to feel the same urgency to ejaculate like in his mind. Even when Jared allows him to spread his hair or let a few strands skim his wet, pert nipples.

Jensen knows Jared isn't the problem because his kink is being played out exactly how his fantasy worked. He's getting shamefully erect, leaking long, dangling streams of pre-come, but nowhere near the pinnacle needed to come as hard as he always has—just by a thought. He thinks maybe he has broken or conditioned himself to never having the real thing, so reality is outshining fantasy but lacks— _something_.

What the moment truly lacks is some _one_ —Jared.

Jensen had objectified the hair to a point where he had forgotten the man—the absolute sweetheart behind the hair. “ _whoa-whoa-whoa!_ ” He sticks out his forearm to hold Jared back, then takes a few deep breathes. “This isn't working.”

“It will, Jen. Eventually.” Immediately, Jared's fearing that Jensen means this entire moment is a bust, never imaginging he wants to change the scene a bit. “We're not used to this—between men, between us. You have to be patient.” He doesn't know why but he feels the urge to plea, which was different earlier from the need to dominate and be in total control. “Please—I'll make it better, I promise. I'm just not—”

“I'm not allowing you to be the you I'm used to—the one I care for. My mind and body are feeling satisfaction but my heart—jesus...I never considered my heart could keep me from actually enjoying sex.”

“Blame it on the hair—it's rather demanding.”

“You don't have to hide your face from me. You're not just an entity with hair. You're Jared. You're—-you, an' I stupidly thought that's what got me off.”

“So it _is_ because of me— _my_ face, _my_ body, _my_...”

“—your heat...your touch...your light—everything about you, with the hair included.” Jensen can't help smiling when he sees the tiny grin form on Jared's lips. “What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sit up. Lay back.” Jared climbs off his knees with a pat to Jensen's leg. “I think I know how to change things up.”

Jensen does as asked, centering himself on the mattress, not quite near the headboard. He doesn't want to turn his head to peek, but he hears Jared open drawers and take off his clothes. Jensen sits upright to tug off his t-shirt. Now they're both naked together, both a bit shy about the other staring for too long. Jared settles onto the bed, on his knees and sits near Jensen's frame.

“First off—here.” Jared hands Jensen lube to slick up his cock. Once Jensen has a dollop in his palm, Jared places some in his own palm, then throws the tube near the pillows as he takes his own dick in his hand.

They twist and turn their wrists, the slip-slide of the fists around flesh makes them grunt and groan in equal amounts. Bracing his hand on Jensen's right, Jared kisses Jensen's chest, tracing his tongue along the skin. He kisses, suckles and then bites each nipple as he follows a trail of bone up to the collar, along the Adam's apple and over the jaw and chin until he's an inch from Jensen's parted lips.

“Your mouth was made for kissing.” Jared punctuates the comment by lightly pressing his own lips, crossway, over Jensen's mouth.

Jensen arches his neck, finding himself peaking, finally, just by the way Jared is present in the moment. He brings up a hand to hook around Jared's neck, trying to hold him in place, while Jared slows his jerking movements; Jensen speeds up. Then Jared does the cruelest action he can even begin; he flips his hair so his length covers his eyes and then he rubs the strands over Jensen's face: along the forehead, down a cheek, skimming nose and mouth. Jensen starts to undulate and cries out, his hand tightens around Jared's throat.

Jared lets his hair rest over Jensen's right breast, licks and suckles to blow as he brushes the strands from one nipple to the next. It's clear Jared is heading south and by now Jensen is stroking in a frenzy as his hand sculpts along broad shoulders to fall down Jared's bulk of an upper chest; the pec was solid in his palm, nipple pebble-hard. And as Jared inches backward, hair skimming abdomen and crossing over pelvis, Jensen slows down his pistoning to arch his back on a hollow moan as he shoots his load—strings of come springing upward, catching on Jared's head, across a shoulder and some land high on Jensen's chest. Jensen vibrates with his release, unsure if he can move—if he even wants to with the glorious weight of Jared resting on him. As he controls his labored breathing, he looks down at the dark brown head laying on his stomach, his hands reaching out to comb back the long bangs, wanting to see Jared's face, connect eyes and try not to promise him the world for indulging him so selflessly.

Jared eventually reopens his lids, takes a hard swallow, kisses Jensen's hand and laps at long fingers, but he shuffles away and off the mattress, like he's ashamed of what they've done. Jensen hears the water turn on, the sound of the automatic soap dispenser makes a long noise and then Jared walks out of the bathroom with a wet head and carrying a damp washcloth and a dry hand towel. There was no mistaking Jared was still hard, his cock jutting out and blood red, heavy with the need to release; there's a glistening sprinkle of pre-come coating the tip. Jensen feels like a tool as he washes his own chest, smoothing over his cock and motions for Jared to show him his back. He lightly swipes the bare shoulder blades, gently tugging on the soaked strands skirting Jared's nape. Jensen sits up further, kissing up Jared's body, grasping the flexing biceps as he stops at the strong shoulder. He lays his cheek there, face turning to Jared's head as he lets his hand play along the expanse of back.

“It doesn't seem fair.”

“What?”

“You indulge me _my_ deepest fantasy.” Jensen turns his face to press his mouth against hot flesh. “I wanna know _your_ turn-ons.”

“You serious?” Jared swivels to look over and down at Jensen's green eyes peeking over his shoulder bone. “You really wanna know?”

“We've always been nothing but equals to one another.” Jensen scrapes the back of his fingers down the spine, petting the moist skin; he hadn't expected a man's skin to feel as soft as a woman's or to feel such an urge to be tender and loving with his same sex. “I hate that I came so hard while leaving you in the lurch.” Jensen's left hand is planted next to Jared's bent left leg.

“It's okay. I'm not—” Jared actually smiles, blushes and averts his face. “Christ! This should be easier. You're so much braver an' stronger than me.”

Jensen furrows his brow as deep concern washes over him. “Hey, hey—c'mon—” He settles his chest against Jared's back, placing a palm to the opposite shoulder. “But I'm _not_ , Jared. If I am, it's because of you.”

Jared spins his head quickly, hazel gazing deep and steady into green. “Don't laugh, but—I'm kind of oddly addicted to your freckles.”

“My freckles?” Jensen lets a tiny grin slip out, hiding behind the shoulder again.

“Every day—from day one of shooting—I had to watch them airbrush them until they weren't even noticeable. I was hooked right from the moment we auditioned the same day. I love those early promo shoots for Warner Brothers because they didn't know exactly how 'Dean' would have to look until they took the first pictures of you, with 'Sam'—me.” Jared turns more to face Jensen, his left hand reaches out to touch a cheek, then skims over the spiked hair. “They even let your hair lay flat on your head, going darker like your roots.”

Jensen stares, awkwardly swallowing. “You've been fantasizing about me, haven't you?”

“Yes. Probably a little longer because I tend to fall in love with my co-stars.” Jared gives off a side-smile, with a soft sniffle out of his nostrils.

“Your co-stars have all been young women.”

“Right now that doesn't seem like a big deal—to my heart or my body.”

Jensen dips his chin to his chest. “Is it _only_ the freckles?” Now he knows how Jared felt earlier when Jensen had confessed about the hair kink.

“No. Well, maybe, at first. They made you look adorable to me. They humanized you—like a flaw you couldn't hide and you, personally, never did.” Jared lifts up a hand, touching the underside of Jensen's eyes, close to his nose where the freckles are prominent the most; it's an innocent touch that turns rather erotic as Jensen closes his eyes to let his curled lashes scrape Jared's fingers and his breathing speeds up. “The freckles helped, though.” Jared pulls away his hand, making a fist to stop tempting himself.

“Jesus, we're screwed.”

“Not necessarily. We're just off-key, off-kilter. This season is kind of weird for us, isn't it? We have our scenes together, but they don't feel like the first three seasons.”

“I miss _their_ old ways.”

“Me too. It gave us carte blanche to act, be together, without excuses. Now—no offense to Genevieve or Misha, but—”

“I miss you.”

Jared busts out with a laugh first, then Jensen smiles to begin deeply chuckling. They both laugh lightly, sharing looks and shoving one another playfully.

“Maybe that's why living together, sharing this house with you, feels so right.”

“Could be what we both want to happen. We just gravitated toward it perfectly.” Jensen places his hand on Jared's leg, slipping toward the inner thigh. “I'm not sure what to do here, or what'll get you off, but I'd like to try.”

Jared shifts a bit, covering a hand over Jensen's. “Can we—? Can I—?—I'd like to see if my own fantasy scenario works like yours did for you.”

“Tell me what to do, where you want me.”

“Back in the center, but on your stomach. Just lay there. Don't—think of it like you're simply rolling over, having fallen back asleep. If you feel like hiking up one of your legs, that's fine. Let me do the rest.”

“mmm—that was pretty decent direction, Jared. Are you sure you don't have aspirations to steal my thunder?”

“Nope. You're the one with the dream of directing. I'd never try to take that from you.”

Jensen rolls as Jared had requested. He drags down a pillow to hug and rest his head on as he peers over his left shoulder. He had thought Jared beautiful and impressive in clothes, but naked, and confident in his own skin, Jared was quite majestic and becoming a new turn-on for Jensen. He feels the dip in the mattress as Jared crawls up his body, closing his eyes when Jared sweeps his drying bangs over his face, then catches his breath when the first tongue-kiss presses into a spatter of freckles on his cheek. Jared doesn't stop there; it was like he has memorized each blotch of skin these past four years, mapping out an exact route he'd take in this position. Jensen feels his body grow excited; this has to be what Jared had meant by feeling pleasure because of another's happiness. They do this for each other in their normal lives. Jensen thinks it's dumb that he never considered it for the bedroom, during sex.

Jared trails along the nape down between shoulder blades, across shoulder blades, over shoulder bones—he adds the new touch of caressing his hair along the way. Two hands shape Jensen right at both sides of his rib cage and then Jared starts deep kissing the dip of the spine until he reaches the lumbar region. Now he traces his nosetip, hair and tongue along the upper curves of Jensen's ass; two large hands grab and split the ass cheeks. Jensen startles a little, afraid this had progressed too quick into “fucking” territory, which he hadn't been prepared for. He isn't clueless; it was inevitable. He simply wants to talk the moment over with Jared. While hands remain on the bottom beneath, Jared shuffles back up Jensen's frame to reassure that he needs his trust; he wasn't about to fuck Jensen without having discussed some aspect of sex between them. This is merely fantasy role-playing, nothing more.

As Jared kisses, suckles and nips in and around Jensen's neck and nape, he spreads the ass cheeks again, slipping his hard cock between them. The tight clutch of the crack around his erection causes him to gasp, then thrust against the plumpness. The quick jutting slams Jensen into the mattress where his own cock lays limp under his body. Pressing his brow to the back of Jensen's head, Jared lifts to brace his upper torso on both hands as he watches the loose skin of engorged length stretch and pull from between the ass cheeks. “oh, god—fuck!” Jared squeezes his eyes shut, not expecting the engulfing tightness to nearly strangle the semen right out of him.

Jensen knows what Jared is feeling: reality was too intense from fantasy. Jared keeps sputtering and stopping, stalling, then starting again. His jerky movements are causing friction for Jensen to spring erect and, if they timed this right, maybe they could both come together—maybe one after the other. “heyheyhey—don't watch.” Jensen's encouraging from over his shoulder. “Jus' lay on me—chest to back. Move like you want, but jus'—”

Jared takes the suggestion to heart, shifting as Jensen had spoken. Jensen bucks when he feels Jared land on top of him, shoving in and pitching him forward. Jensen gets rid of the pillow, plastering his face to the sheets, and where Jared had braced his hands, Jensen grapples onto the wrists for traction. Jared pumps—one, two, three—quick and fast—then he draws one thrust out for what seemed like minutes. He does this three or four more times, burying his face in Jensen's neck. Jared intentionally lets his cock slip out, roughly flipping Jensen over to his back. Jensen was right there, legs wrapping high on Jared's waist and ankles locking. Their cocks flap mid-air and smack together: one thrusting, the other bucking. Jared pins Jensen's wrists down, arms outward as he holds Jensen to the bed, letting the tight embrace of their bodies be enough to work them into a mutual orgasm.

It doesn't work out that perfectly, but damn close. Jared muffles his cries into Jensen's shoulder, roughly kissing with gentle bites to the line of bone—his semen spurts in one long stream to coat his chest, then pool in the middle of Jensen's torso. Again, Jensen ejaculates ropes of long streams in thicker white come that splatter everywhere with very little on himself. Jared doesn't loosen his grip on Jensen's wrists as he keeps tenderly moving in the aftermath of their releases. Jensen whines, then mewls under-breath, trying to hold down his want to cry out his pleasure rather loudly. He's never wanted to be _this_ vocal in bed so badly.

Jared slides his sweaty head to tuck into Jensen's throat, his fingers now trailing down limp forearms, tickling the underside of flexing biceps. He tucks his arms at Jensen's side, at his arm pits. Jensen wants to trail hands over Jared's body, explore the magnificence as he comes down from such a fantastic high. But he can only bring his right arm over, hand at the back of Jared's head, petting the perspiring hair, then locking the scalp to lift Jared up. He wants to look into that sweet face, gaze into those hazel eyes and see exactly what he's feeling pour forth. Jared's weak from his release, his eyes languid and sleepy, but he's able to smile so one dimple shows.

Jensen pokes at the crevice, tracing up to the dark mole under the left eye, near the nose. How could he have let the hair overpower him to the point of excluding all the other details that made Jared attractive to him? He pushes Jared closer, pressing a kiss to the high forehead, allowing Jared to drape and rest over him. The washcloth is in reaching distance, but for now Jensen is content.

With a final burst of leftover energy, Jared sniffs out air from his nostrils to snicker. “I meant to tell you, I proposed to the shampoo girl.”

“You did?” Jensen hopes it was made in jest. “Did she say 'yes'?” Of course she had, who wouldn't?

“Apparently, she's already married, so I said we could have a 'hair affair'—”

“A 'hair affair'?” Jensen holds his breath to break out in laughter; he's waiting to hear the definition.

“She laughed, an' then she told me the _real_ story.”

“Oh?” Jensen goes tense, unsure if Jared will be angry or be cool.

“She couldn't help herself. She's a Sam-girl. She thinks Dean's not being nice to baby-bro this season.”

“mmm, figures.”

“I defended Dean. Like how we talk about the story arc an' stuff.”

“And it worked?”

“Nah...she still doesn't like Dean.”

“Sam-girls never do.”

“eh, Dean's a difficult guy to 'like' much less love. Takes a fucked-up soul like Sam to know exactly how to love Dean.”

“Just not love- _love_ him.”

“I don't know. Who's to say it couldn't hurt? Make their warped bond actually turn healthy.”

“I doubt that's the five-year plan for Dean and Sam.”

“—Sam and Dean.”

“Whatever.”

Jared places a hand on Jensen's chest. “Jensen and Jared.”

Jensen secures one arm around Jared's torso. “Sleep, dude. You're still a little tipsy.”

“mmm...drunk off you.” Jared twists up to hide his face under Jensen's chin, promptly closing his eyes to fall dead asleep.

The soft snores against his skin signals to Jensen Jared was out. He combs and sifts through the limp, drying locks, twisting them around his fingers while he contemplates their next fantasy roleplay—now all he needs is to have access to a salon chair and a shampoo sink. He's already growing hard simply thinking about arranging the scenario.

 **the end**


End file.
